


Could Ye Repeat That?

by BaconWrappedRainbows



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Gimli, Baristas, Coffee Shops, Crack Treated Seriously, Flirting, Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaconWrappedRainbows/pseuds/BaconWrappedRainbows
Summary: Gimli understands the pretty blond elf perfectly when he orders his drink, but he just can't quite catch his name. At all. What was that... Egg alas? Legging loss? Elvish names are impossible.





	Could Ye Repeat That?

**Author's Note:**

> This cracky short fic is set in modern Middle Earth. All the brands and whatnot that you know and love – including, of course, Starbucks – exist alongside all the races and locations from Tolkien's universe. Dwarf and Hobbit baristas use a step stool to serve customers. It's the rule. Note that Gimli, Faramir, Sam, Fatty, Rosie, and Legolas, are all "college age" for their races. 
> 
> Inspired by a prompt from the surprisingly useful prompt generator at https://prompts.neocities.org
> 
> This is my first actual fanfic for the LotR fandom, so... Hi there! I hope you enjoy!

Elves are ridiculous. They’ve got these pointy little ears and hairless faces and they like to skip through meadows and sing songs in their strange and flowery language. Dwarves are much more practical; they’re short and compact with no cumbersome long limbs, they can grow a proper beard, and their language is distinctly less overelaborate than that of the Elves. 

There’s also the matter of names. Dwarvish names are as economic and straightforward as Dwarves themselves. Gimli’s own name, for instance, makes perfect phonetic sense in both the common tongue and his native Khuzdûl. Though non-Dwarves occasionally assume his name is spelled Gimly or Gimlee (and once, the atrocious  _ GimLeigh _ ), that can be attributed to ignorance. Elvish names, on the other hand… well. Some of them are indeed simple, but most are bizarre-sounding and overly complex, at least in Gimli’s opinion. As a Starbucks barista, he has had to puzzle over many an Elvish name, playing a guessing game over the spelling. And it seems he’s about to repeat the process.

Gimli doesn’t even know what to think as his marker hovers over the plastic cup. This elf had just ordered a venti matcha tea latte, and when Gimli has asked for his name, what he’d said sounded suspiciously like ‘stegosaurus’. 

“Could ye repeat that?”

“Stegosaurus,” says the elf, a little louder. Well, the coffee shop is crowded and noisy, so it is entirely possible Gimli has misheard… But if anyone would be named Stegosaurus, it’d be an elf. 

The line behind the elf is long and impatient, so Gimli scribbles ‘Stegosaurus’ onto the cup and proceeds to ring up the customer.

Five or so minutes later, Gimli hears his colleague Faramir call out ‘matcha tea latte for… Stegosaurus,’ and he sees the very confused blond elf step forward, looking around. Gimli supposes he misheard after all, and his name isn’t actually Stegosaurus. Whatever. It isn’t Gimli’s fault. And ‘Stegosaurus’ is evidently close enough to the elf’s name, as he eventually grabs the drink and slinks off to a table in the corner. 

Faramir moves past Gimli on his way to get something. “Stegosaurus, really?” he scoffs.

“It’s no my fault the elf mumbled his name,” Gimli answers quietly. 

Faramir chuckles, but they can’t continue speaking, as the next customer has approached the cash.

The small rush of customers finally peters off, and Gimli hops off the step stool and kicks it out of the way, knowing that it’s Faramir turn on cash next. The Dwarf grabs his cleaning supplies and starts to spray down the counters.

Quite a few of the tables are occupied, and at one in the corner sits a familiar blond elf. He sips his drink and works with utmost focus on something on his MacBook. He’s quite pretty, Gimli thinks– though all elves are, in this smooth-faced, youthful manner. But this elf is even prettier than the average elf. His long blond hair looks even shinier, his gentle features even softer, his pale skin even smoother. Gimli can’t help but stare at the fetching fellow in a crisp plaid shirt and dark green cardigan.

He’s been running his rag over the same little spot on the counter over and over again, he realizes. Before Faramir can notice he’s been ogling the elf, Gimli moves to clean the other side of the counter. The dwarf makes quick work of this and decides to go check if the men’s bathroom is clean. Thank Mahal– the toilets and urinals are fine, and the only mess is a puddle (of water!) near the sinks. He retrieves a mop from the store room and returns to the bathroom to mop up the puddle. When he’s done, however, he exits to find that the pretty elf has since left. Gimli hopes he will return another time… And maybe Gimli will get his name right, then.

* * *

Two days later, Gimli has his next shift at work. Faramir is already behind the counter with his apron on when Gimli arrives– an extremely rare occurrence.

“‘Mornin’, Faramir!” Gimli greets in his customarily cheery manner. 

“Good morning, Gimli,” the man replies. “Do you know who closed last night? It’s a mess over here!” 

Gimli hums as he checks the schedule on the wall. “Rosie and Sam. My best guess is he offered to let her leave early, and he did a subpar job of cleanin’ by himself as a result.”

Faramir sighs and dumps a dustpan full of dirt into the trash. “Sam and Rosie shouldn’t be allowed shifts together, at least not by themselves. Sam gets all googly eyed and stops paying attention.”

Gimli chuckles. He puts his apron on and reaches behind himself to tie it. “Aye, but y’know Sam would quit if he dinnae have a shift with Rosie!”

Faramir laughs. “Fair point.”

A couple minutes later, Fatty Bolger finally makes his appearance, blaming traffic from his end of town for his lateness. And he isn’t a moment too early, for not long after, the first trickle of customers begin to arrive, eventually culminating in the morning rush. Gimli is at cash again, with Fatty making the hot beverages and Faramir the cold ones. 

Gimli barely recognizes the blond elf from the other day, he is so focused. But his voice and his pretty pale face could belong to no other, so Gimli soon smiles at the familiar figure. 

“And may I have your name, Sir?” Gimli asks. 

“Legoland,” says the elf– or at least that’s what it sounds like to Gimli. 

“Come again?” Gimli doesn’t want to repeat yesterday’s Stegosaurus incident. 

He repeats, and it again, it sounds like the name of the theme park dedicated to the children’s building toy. 

Defeated, Gimli scribbles down ‘Legoland.’ “Alright, laddie. Your total comes to 5.33.”

The elf pays with his debit card and makes his way to the crowd of folk waiting for their orders. 

Gimli is ringing up a lovely Dwarf girl when he hears Fatty call out confidently: ‘matcha tea latte for Legoland!’

Again, the blond elf looks confused, and Gimli realizes he’s messed up again. Makes sense; this elf was likely born hundreds, maybe thousands of years before the invention of Lego. Nonetheless, the elf picks up his drink and retreats to the same table as he had the other day. 

The morning rush slows once again to a trickle, and Fatty takes over Gimli’s place on cash. Gimli notices a few tables are dirty, so he picks up a rag, a spray bottle of cleaner, and a small trash can before heading over to the seating area to wipe down the unoccupied tables. He whistles to himself as he does this, which draws the attention of that blond elf who sits a few metres away. His light blue eyes flick up from his laptop screen to meet Gimli’s, and he smiles a little. Gimli nods at him in recognition. The elf has a lovely smile, and plush pink lips. 

After he’s done, Gimli returns behind the counter to find Faramir on his phone.

“Just what d’ye think yer doin’ faffin’ aboot, lad?” Gimli asks. He sees a familiar app on Faramir’s screen. “No Tinder on the job!”

“If you can flirt on the job, I should be allowed this,” Faramir mutters, though he puts his phone in the pocket of his skinny jeans.

“And just when have ah been flirting, Faramir?” Gimli asks, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you and that elf,” the young man says with a sly grin as he rinses out a blender.

“Yer bum’s oot the windae; we only looked at each other!” Gimli protests. 

“I don’t know what you did, but he’s been staring at you since.”

Gimli flushes under his bushy beard. “Has he really?” 

“I can confirm;” mutters Fatty, “still is, in fact.”

Gimli turns around and pretends to check something by the cash registers– he manages to catch a glimpse of the blond elf looking quickly from Gimli to his laptop screen. “Well, Ah’ll be,” he chuckles as he turns back to Faramir. 

Faramir’s smiling as well. “Are you going to talk to him, then?”

Gimli shakes his head. “Naw. He’s right bonnie, sure, but Ah’m no’ gonna mess around with no elf,” he says quietly.

Faramir shrugs and moves on to rinse a different piece of equipment. “Your choice, man.”

Gimli puts away his cleaning supplies. Does Faramir think he should go for it? It wouldn’t be the first time Gimli’s fooled around with a customer, but it’s been mostly other Dwarves, or the occasional human, sometimes even a Hobbit. He’s never even entertained the  _ thought _ of getting involved with an elf in any manner. He realizes at the same time that he’s never been attracted to an elf before, either– he’s always preferred a partner with body hair and a beard to bury his fingers in, especially if the beard belongs to a Dwarrowdam. But this elf, beardless and lanky, is somehow attractive nonetheless. 

He keeps stealing glances at the blond, and often finds that his eyes are narrowly avoiding meeting the other’s. Eventually, the elf packs up his things and leaves, shooting one last furtive look in Gimli’s direction. The dwarf hears a soft snicker, and sees Fatty shaking his head. 

“Maybe you should consider getting involved with that elf,” the Hobbit says. “He’s interested in you even though you can’t get his name right.”

* * *

The next morning, Gimli shares his shift with Fatty and Sam Gamgee. Sam is an interesting addition to the team, and not only because of his ridiculous crush on Rosie Cotton. He is incredibly gifted at latte art and he insists on taking a toothpick to pretty much every hot drink he gets his hands on, drawing little pictures in the foam. This slows the service at their location, but his talent also attracts the artsy types. It’s mostly young human women and elves of all descriptions who are in awe of the cute little designs on their drinks and take several pictures for their social media followers, but Gimli notices many a pleasantly surprised face when customers pick up their hot drinks. At the moment, Gimli sees a brunette Hobbit woman who is trying to get the perfect shot of her latte, and he is very amused. 

Gimli’s heart flutters as a familiar blond elf enters the shop and makes very brief eye contact with him through the vast sea of customers. It’s the Stegosaurus, Legoland guy… Gimli can feel himself blush. What’s wrong with him? He can’t recall having a crush like this since he was but a wee Dwarf. 

When the lanky fellow makes it to the counter, Gimli is already grabbing a venti sized cup. “The usual?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even. 

“Yes,” the elf answers. He’s blushing a little. 

“And… Your name, please?” Gimli asks, trying to focus all his energy in what he’s about to hear.

“Legless,” is what Gimli hears this time. 

“Legless?” he repeats questioningly. 

The elf’s features light up. “Yes, that’s it!”

Gimli’s eyebrows rise towards his hairline. Now that’s a funny name, he thinks. The elf seems to have legs– two of them, in fact. He doesn’t comment, however. It’s not his place. He writes ‘Legless’ on the cup and puts it aside. “And that comes to 5.33.”

The Legless guy pays and makes way for the next person in line. 

“Hey, Gimli, can you take over making fraps for me?” Fatty asks.

Gimli nods and gets off the stop stool. “Certainly.”

The Dwarf situates himself next to Sam, who is, predictably, using a toothpick to create a beautiful swirly design in a latte. 

“Maybe ye should concentrate on speed for a bit, Samwise,” Gimli suggests, noticing the line of empty cups representing all the orders Sam has yet to make. Gimli fills a cup with ice.

“You can’t rush art, Gimli!” Sam mutters. 

“But maybe a bunch of angry customers can,” Gimli muses as he finishes making the iced coffee. He calls out the name on the beverage and leaves it on the counter to continue making cold drinks. 

Eventually, Gimli stands beside Sam to make a regular coffee. Just as he’s finishing it, Sam hands him his latest creation– a latte topped with an intricate heart. 

“A grande dark roast for Éomer, and a venti matcha tea latte for Legless,” he calls, placing the cups on the counter. The elf is there waiting, and he smiles to Gimli as he picks it up and walks away. Gimli can feel himself blush at that tiny smile. 

It seems like forever before the morning rush is over. Gimli is back at the cash, Sam is cleaning the machines, and Fatty is in the back, looking for refills of toppings. The Dwarf, getting bored already, drums his fingers lightly on the counter. He sees the elf – Legless, though Gimli doesn’t really want to accept that that’s his name – walk to the counter with the lids, straws, and other accoutrements. Legless grabs a napkin and heads back to his table. Gimli finds himself surprised that he needs a napkin– he didn’t realize elves could even make messes. However, as Legless returns to his table, he doesn’t use the napkin to clean up a spill or wipe his face. Instead, he pulls a pen out of a little pouch in his bag and starts to write. Gimli watches, curious as to what he could be writing that required a napkin instead of his computer. The elf stares at his writing for a moment, takes the pen to the napkin again, and then stares for another second or two before he is apparently satisfied. With great deliberation, Legless packs away his things, puts his laptop bag on his shoulder, and stands up from his table. He’s holding the napkin as rushes towards the cash. 

Gimli is very confused, now– the blond comes right up to his counter and places the napkin right in front of him without a word of acknowledgement or a moment of eye contact, and then he bolts right out of the shop as if he were on fire. 

Gimli blinks at the closing door. He glances at the napkin, and it is covered in dainty cursive. He’s almost afraid to read it, but curiosity overcomes him and he picks it up.

_ To the handsome Dwarven barista with the rust-coloured hair,  _ it says,

_ If our shared glances and the heart design on my latte mean what I think they do, I would like you to know I reciprocate your attraction. I would be very much interested in a romantic rendez-vous at your earliest convenience. I have written my cell phone number on the reverse side of this napkin for ease of communication.  _

_ In the event that I am mistaken – though I rarely am about such things – I extend my sincerest apologies for any offense or discomfort I may have caused, and I invite you to disregard this note completely. _

_ I hope to receive correspondence from you shortly.  _

_ Best, _

_ Legolas _

The name at the end is written in very clear script and underlined twice. Ah,  _ Legolas!  _ That makes so much more sense!

Gimli smiles at the napkin. He wonders if this is how elves ask people out, with handwritten notes that have full sentences and words such as ‘reciprocate’ and ‘disregard’. He wonders if this is how the elf talks. For some reason, he really wants to find out. 

He flips the napkin over and sees that it does indeed have a phone number written on the other side. Feeling victorious, he carefully folds the napkin and places it in the pocket of his pants. He decides he will ‘correspond’ with the elf as soon as his shift has ended. And he won’t tell Legolas that it wasn’t him that put the heart on his latte; he resolves to stay eternally thankful to Sam instead.   
  



End file.
